Chapter 10
Alarm
As a child, I loved shimmering lights. I remember when I was four and my mother, before she opted to resign from motherhood, took me to a Christmas market in Prague.
I saw the biggest Christmas tree ever that night.
It was tall and bushy and decked out in gorgeous ornaments, and hundreds of lights.
They glowed and sparkled, and my young, innocent eyes thought it was the most beautiful sight in the world.
Red and blue lights flash atop five police cruisers, illuminating the dark sidewalk as the elevator doors open into the lobby.
I no longer love lights.
It’s heartbreaking that something so beautiful could represent loss. Death.
Theo places a warm palm on the small of my back. I hug the overnight bag I packed absentmindedly as he leads me toward the exit. I wish I could bring Maslow with me but he’s old. My neighbors will keep him safe. They’ll keep him out of harm’s way.
“You’re shaking, Safia,” Theo whispers, concern etched between his brows. “Maybe you should have changed.”
I glance down at the fleece robe I’m wearing. “I thought I did.”
“It’s okay. Let's get you out of here so the NYPD can do their job.” Theo attempts to nudge me forward, but I can’t seem to make my feet move. “Safia?”
I swivel my head toward the concierge desk, expecting to find a pool of blood but it’s clean. “He wasn’t killed there.”
Theo swallows. “No.”
I frown. “Where… Where did you find his body?” My gut churns. “Where did you find Seymour?”
Theo’s gaze flits across my face, apprehensive to share details of the murder. The cold-blooded murder. He’s dead. Seymour is dead. Because of me. This is my fault. He had a wife. He had three kids. A grandchild on the way. And now? And now he has nothing.
Theo hesitates for a second before nodding toward the emergency exit. “It appears Kross subdued and dragged Seymour to the staircase.”
“I see.” I stare at Seymour’s desk. There’s an insulated coffee tumbler on the counter. The lid is open and steam escapes the opening. He probably only took one sip. “Is there footage?”
“Footage?”
I blink, willing my brain to cooperate but it’s numb, unable to snap back to its executive state. I seem to be in shock. Awareness doesn’t appear to be a solution. And so I mumble, monotone, “Security footage. Do the cops have it?”
Theo’s voice turns soft, almost coddling. “You don’t need to worry about that, Safia. All you need to do is come with me.”
I tilt my head up, making eye contact for the first time in what feels like years. “I want to see it.”
His response is immediate. “Absolutely not.”
“I want to see it,” I state, tone stern, yet trembling. “Show me.”
“Safia…”
I latch onto his jacket, scrunching the fabric. “Show me the fucking footage.”
Theo glances down on my strong hold, his lips faintly curled up. “This isn’t my jurisdiction.”
“Then make it your jurisdiction,” I say, unfaltering. “You said rules are meant to be bent. So bend them.”
Theo places a gentle hand on top of mine and carefully pushes down, my fingers releasing his jacket. His eyes darken as he looks at me.
“I’ll see what I can do.” He turns to walk away, but I grab his wrist, stopping him. “What?”
My brain breaks through the chains of my frozen psyche, and I ask, “Why were you here, Theo?”
He shrugs me off. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
As I watch Theo walk away, the question nags at me.
He had blood on his hands, which means he saw Seymour’s body.
That he touched it. But why? Why was he here at my apartment building?
He dropped me off hours ago. Was he coming back for something?
Did I forget something in his car again?
And why did he know where to look? How did he know where Seymour’s body would be?
Did he see Kaleb kill him? He couldn’t have, right? If he saw him, he would’ve stopped him.
Pain pulses in my temples as I try to piece it all together.
None of it makes sense, and the more I think about it, the more my head pounds.
After a few moments of standing in the exact same spot where Theo left me, he returns with an officer.
The man is tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a look of hardened experience.
As he gets closer, I catch sight of his name tag: Officer Alex Nunez.
I straighten my spine, sensing judgment seeping from the officer's pores.
Your fault. This is your fault. If only you called us sooner, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.
“We need to ask you a few questions, Ms. Hadid,” Officer Nunez says, glancing at Theo. “Agent Kane here says the culprit was a patient of yours and that he,” the officer checks his notes, “that he was stalking you and—”
“I want to see the footage,” I interrupt, my voice firm. “You show me the footage, and then I’ll answer your questions. And it’s Doctor Hadid, not Ms.”
The officer frowns, clearly unamused by my demand. “That’s not how this works, Doctor Hadid.”
I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms.
Theo notices my tense posture and steps in. “She’ll answer your questions, but then the footage.”
Officer Nunez twists his lips, considering Theo’s compromise. “We really can’t—”
Theo cuts him off. “This woman is the leading expert in behavioral psychology, Officer Nunez. It would be foolish to refuse her expertise due to bureaucratic red tape. Just give her five minutes. I’m sure she’ll be able to provide you with at least one helpful insight.”
In my current state, I doubt I’d be any help at all, and Theo knows that.
The officer scratches his chin, glancing quickly at his commanding officer before nodding. “Fine. Five minutes, but first, my questions.”
I sigh, dreading this inquisition, but knowing it’s necessary.
“Kaleb Cross was recommended to my office by a former colleague, back when I still had an office. I believe he suffered from erotomania, though I didn’t have time for a proper diagnosis.
Regardless, I thought I could help him. However, after the third session, I realized that Kaleb had set his delusions on me.
I told him I would not be able to treat him any further and recommended him to another psychologist—a male, hoping it would help Kaleb refocus.
Over the next few months, I received flowers and chocolates, the occasional card.
He would show up on random street corners, leave voicemails.
But I never felt unsafe. And then one day, he tried to visit me here, at my apartment.
He wasn’t allowed upstairs, and after that, I didn’t hear from him for six months.
Not until we bumped into each other at the club the other night. And now... And now this.”
The officer writes down everything I say, nodding as he processes the information. “According to arrest reports, Kaleb Cross has been in jail for the last six months. That probably explains his absence.”
I frown, confused. “For what?”
The officer hesitates before answering. “Sexual harassment. But the victim recanted, so he was released.”
My blood turns cold, and I feel Theo tense beside me.
“Did you find him?” Theo hisses. “He couldn’t have gone far. Did you check his last known address?”
“Empty,” Nunez says. “It appears he’s been living out of the van parked out front for a bit.”
I frown again. “Why? He has family money.”
Nunez shrugs. “I’m not sure, but we’ll find out. We always do.”
Frustration buzzes in my veins like an angry swarm of wasps.
“The footage,” I say, my patience wearing thin. “Shall we?”
With a begrudging nod, Nunez leads me and Theo to the security room, where half a dozen officers are milling about the small space.
Eight monitors fill the wall, each displaying different camera angles from around the building.
Nunez instructs one of his colleagues to pull up the tape, and I watch, feeling queasy and lightheaded, as the footage begins to play.
The time stamp reads 9:48 p.m. Kaleb Cross enters the building with a bouquet of red roses in his hand.
He’s wearing coveralls, like a maintenance worker.
He approaches Seymour, and they talk briefly.
The conversation quickly turns to bickering, Seymour likely telling Kaleb he’s not permitted inside, that he’s not on the visitor’s list.
Then, it happens so fast. Kaleb rounds the desk and places a cloth over Seymour’s mouth.
Seymour collapses instantly. Kaleb drags him through the lobby.
The camera angle changes, now showing the emergency staircase.
Kaleb pulls out a knife from his pocket, and I flinch as he stabs Seymour four times, his expression manic and crazed.
Then, as if sensing something, his head snaps toward the staircase entrance, and he panics.
He quickly pulls out a pen and scribbles something on a card—the message I read earlier. And then he bolts out the fire escape.
A few moments later, Theo appears in the staircase. He immediately drops to his knees, trying to perform CPR—clearly to no avail. The officer tells the security guard to turn off the recording.
I stand frozen, my brain struggling to process what I just saw. My blood turns to fire as I glower at the security guard.
“And where were you?” I demand, my voice sharp. “You’re supposed to be watching.”
The guard swallows hard, his face pale. “I had to take a leak. I... I was only gone for five minutes.”
My ears burn with anger. “Well, now you know exactly what can happen in five minutes.” With a huff, I storm out of the camera room, Theo jogging after me.
“Hey, wait up!” he calls out, but I keep walking, my footsteps heavy with frustration.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice clipped. “I’m going to a hotel.”
Theo grabs my arm, spinning me around to face him. His eyes are pitch black, his expression intense.
“The hell you are.”
I scoff, trying to pull away from his grip. “Excuse me?”
Without another word, Theo aggressively snatches the overnight bag from my hands.
“You’re staying with me,” he declares, nodding toward the front doors. “Let’s go.”
My jaw drops at Theo’s suggestion.
“That’s absurd,” I say, shaking my head as if it will make his demand any less outrageous. “I’m getting a hotel.”
Theo’s voice drops to a low, deep octave that sends shivers down my spine. “You are coming with me, Safia. End of story.”
I cross my arms, trying to stand my ground. “You’re being ridiculous, Theodore. I’ll be perfectly safe at a hotel. I don’t need you babysitting me.”
His jaw sets, and I can see the muscles in his neck tightening. “I’m not taking any chances. Now, either you walk those pretty little legs to my car, or I throw you over my shoulder. What will it be?”
I swallow hard, my heart thudding in my chest. “You wouldn’t.”
Theo lifts a combative brow, his gaze challenging me. “Try me.”
Something in his unwavering expression tells me not to push him. Something tells me he’ll do exactly what he says he’ll do. The thought of him actually throwing me over his shoulder, carrying me away like some damsel in distress—it’s preposterous, yet terrifyingly arousing at the same time.
I know I should keep fighting him on this, but the words stick in my throat. Reluctantly, I nod. “Fine. One night. Then I’m getting a hotel.”
Theo scoffs, a sound that’s almost a laugh. “Sure. One night.”
We exit my apartment building, walking toward Theo’s SUV parked a block down the street. My frown deepens as I notice the distance. Why was he parked so far away? There were free spots in front. My temples pulse again, and I decide to stop thinking about it. The mind can only take so much.
The drive to Theo’s place is tense, the silence between us thick with unspoken words. He grips the steering wheel tight, his knuckles white, while I stare out the window, refusing to look at him.
When we finally pull up to an apartment building in Midtown, I feel a pang of surprise.
It’s a nice neighborhood, quieter than I expected.
There’s no doorman. Theo grabs my bag from the back seat without a word and leads me up to the third floor.
I hug myself, feeling small and out of place.
This isn’t neutral territory; this is his space, his domain.
I’m at a disadvantage here, and I hate that.
Theo flicks on the lights, illuminating a sparsely decorated apartment filled with unpacked moving boxes. I frown at the mess, but then I remember that he only recently moved to New York.
“The bedroom is down that hall to the right. You can sleep there. I’ll take the couch,” Theo says, his tone matter-of-fact.
I blink, caught off guard. For some reason, I hadn’t expected that. But why? What did I think he was going to say? That we’d sleep in the same bed? Of course not. How silly.
“The bathroom is right there,” Theo adds, pointing to a closed door. “If you need anything, let me know.”
Sheepishly, I take my bag from Theo and shuffle toward his bedroom.
It feels strange, like an invasion of privacy, but exhaustion overpowers my thoughts, and I listlessly remove my shoes and robe before climbing into Theo’s bed.
The sheets are crisp and cool, the dark navy comforter heavy and comforting as I pull it up to my chin.
Moonlight seeps through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room like an adult nightlight.
My gaze floats around the room, trying to piece together this new environment.
It’s minimalistic, almost stark, but not cold.
I expected it to be cold. My eyes land on a bookshelf against the far wall, and a title catches my attention: The Myths of Ancient Greece.
I smile, a small, almost involuntary reaction. I have the same copy at home.
Home. The word feels foreign now, like a place that no longer exists. I thought I was safe there. I thought those walls could protect me, but they didn’t. Not from Kaleb, not from the chaos that followed. Now, even the thought of returning back there feels like stepping into a trap.
I close my eyes, trying to shut out the memories, but they come rushing back.
Seymour’s lifeless body, the blood, the fear.
Kaleb’s crazed expression on that security footage.
And then there’s Theo. His presence, his intensity, his resolute insistence that I stay with him.
It’s too much, all of it. I don’t trust myself around him. I don’t trust him, either.
At work, there are always people around—witnesses, buffers, people to keep us accountable. But here, in his home, it’s just us.
As I drift off to sleep, I can hear Theo moving around in the other room, the soft sounds of him settling in on the couch.
I picture him there, arms crossed, alert—a protector.
And for some reason, that thought—the thought of him watching over me—lets me finally close my eyes and surrender to the darkness.